


people lose their hearts in tragedy (but my heart is bigger than yours)

by Doctor_Mayhem



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A lot of murder, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bernadetta and Sylvain are best friends, Best Friends, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dirty Money War, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Film Noir, Gen, Guns, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Out of Character, POV Third Person Omniscient, Secret Organizations, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, a lot of good friends in this i love good friends, bernie is a badass because she is my favourite, crime/mystery, felix shows up soon, first upload is basically an exposition, get ready for the most vague and confusing shit you've read in your life, it's not futuristic but i want it to be horror based. no? ok, probably gonna look like fall o ut in someway, thank you for giving this a try!, this is my first time posting my writing too, this is self indulgent as hell ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Mayhem/pseuds/Doctor_Mayhem
Summary: garreg mach organization has a problem. sylvain just can't decide what.





	people lose their hearts in tragedy (but my heart is bigger than yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this a try.

"Over here.”  
Her voice echoed throughout the hallway; cold air masking it among the darkness. Lacing her finger over the trigger- not too hard, not too tight- she lifted the barrel close to her chin.  
It was quiet inside the house that night.

Another one gone, she began to think; anxious ruminations swimming through a sea of her own mind. These trials had appeared again and again- yet over and over the team receives nothing.  
Adjusting her tie, she waited. As more thoughts formed and dissipated, her breath lingering in the shadows of the house, she eyed her watch as time passed slowly. One more minute.  
He was taking too long.

It had been like this before. Too many instances, coincidences, conspiracies… the Garreg Mach Organization investigated all- leading to no avail. Bernadetta’s desperation had evolved from assumption to suspicion- yet of what? Already five victims had been lost, either bled to death, inhaled poison, maybe even a gunshot or two. Meanwhile witnesses remain unknown, confused, shocked, and silent. Perhaps it was too much to handle, which is understandable, or….  
The lights kept blaring. Red, blue, yellow- Ingrid’s use of the headlights was a bit of a show. From outside the window, Bernadetta watched her colleague’s silhouette scan the outside, crushing the dead grass beneath her feet. Ingrid may have re-entered the car once or twice, signaling the others to guard the property from curious civilians. Yet despite the need for a still environment, Bernadetta couldn’t help but feel pride for her team- with the exception of a certain pain in the ass.

-  
The sound of footsteps soon came, hurriedly tapping towards her. “Berna-”  
Her instincts caved, instantly turning around and clasping her hands against their wrists, forcing them to release their weapon- arms crushed across the wall. They let out a small whimper, “Ow...”

Of course.  
Bernadetta sighed, releasing them. “You’re late,” she retorted. “What the hell were you doing, Sylvain? Making out with the paintings?” She looked up, stomping her foot. “There is a lot more going on than you care about, and I’m not waiting ten minutes for every turn we take.”  
Sylvain rubbed his wrists, red from his boss’s ironclad grip. “Yeah, yeah, I know… I-”  
“I don’t care.” Bernadetta then bent down, swiping his gun from the floor, handing it back. “Look, the sooner we find the victim, the faster we get out of here. If you’re so caught on being late, at least wait until this part is finished.”  
Sylvain nodded as the two tiptoed in the kitchen, avoiding the broken china among the marble floors. Blood trails splattered on the cabinets, dripping onto the counters, once clean like an untouched museum.  
Bernadetta’s vision didn’t stray far from it either, taking notes of every detail- seemingly useless to her partner. Another stabbing, she wrote. Pieces of glass are scattered in east kitchen, none are bloodied. She clicked her pen again, scribbling out past annotations as the two moved forward.  
The darkness of the house wasn’t kind at all, the white walls seemingly black in the night, reflecting Ingrid’s overuse of sirens and headlights. Thanks to that, and the lack of working lights, Sylvain couldn’t even make out his own shadow, endlessly stepping on the back of Bernie’s shoes. “Sorry, sorry-”  
“One more time and you will no longer have toes.”  
All he could do is nod. God, how could such a small woman be so terrifying?  
After noting what was merely minutes, feeling like hours to the poor man, the two arrived at the end of the east hallway, basking in cold isolation. Before them was the door to the master bedroom, its outside draped with gold linen, marking the sweet innocence that had disappeared.  
Bernadetta turned her face, making eye contact to the redhead. The barrel of her gun no longer pointed upwards, but rather at the doorknob. “Be ready,” she whispered.  
Sylvain cocked his own weapon in accordance, swallowing back his fear.

Upon placing her hand on the knob, the woman twisted it slowly- peeking through the entrance of what appeared as a jungle of drapery. Curtains reflected the moonlight, creating a spotlight among the body laid on the mattress. Each window either had one of the features, hand marks, broken frames, smears, and scratches.  
“What the hell happened here...” remarked Sylvain, slowly stepping in after Bernadetta.  
They approached closer, passing the drawers and dressers labeled ‘His’ and ‘Hers.’ And of course, the overly gigantic mirror, nearly reflecting the entire chamber.  
Sylvain paused, watching his boss examine the room. His reflection glared at him, and god he was a mess. A fine one, but still a mess. His hair was flipped, reversing the frame of his face into looking like he was a crackhead- his suit unbuttoned, unintentionally by Sylvain himself in an effort to escape the heat. His face was dirty, his hands were bloody, and he was exhausted.  
“Sylvain, check this out.”  
Bernadetta placed her hand over the victim’s chest, eagerly holding herself together. “They’re alive- oh my god, they’re-” she glanced up at him, “go and get Ingrid, now!”  
And so without hesitation, he ran outside, hollering to the others to recover the victim. “Ingrid, Dedue! We have a survivor!”  
“What?!” yelled Ingrid, rushing over, shoving Sylvain aside into the property. Sylvain quickly followed.  
With each hand, the crew gathered together and carried the victim out of the chambers, away from the kitchen, hidden from the lights. They were breathing, they were breathing, they were alive.

The headlights of Ingrid’s car still continued to blare throughout the area, shadowing the crew as they attempted to cover the victim’s wounds. “Those Eagles will finally get their ass caught,” mentioned Ingrid, eyeing over to her friend.  
“We don’t know that for sure, Galatea.” Bernadetta retorted, “For all we know this could be a-”  
“It can’t just be a coincidence! Five people have lost their lives! I know the Eagles had something to do with it. You can’t stay guessing forever!”  
Dedue nodded along. “This is the third attempt in the last month. Perhaps we should start pointing fingers.”  
Sylvain looked over to his boss, still relentlessly holding a tight grip on the victim’s hand. “Bernie… Ingrid has never been wrong with her intentions. We can’t just ignore the chance of ulterior motives here.”  
The boss refused to respond.  
“Oh great, now the silent treatment.” Ingrid sighed, applying pressure on the body once more.  
“Well before ANYTHING, let’s make sure our little victim here doesn’t die on us.”  
Then for once, they all agreed.

-

They lay still, the heart monitor barely heard within the operating room. Next to them sat Sylvain, watching the victim’s chest slowly rise and fall in rhythm. The circles around his eyes grew deeper and darker with each tick of the clock. Again, he rubbed his face, exhausted.  
Several nurses had come and gone, checking their vitals, also making sure Sylvain received something to eat in the meantime. But alas, as the nights lasted longer than his own patience, Sylvain did not eat- only caring about the person before him.  
It was a young woman, possibly younger than he, with floral-like green hair that made her seem like she came straight from a renaissance painting. She was beautiful, resting in the sunshine (yet ugly surroundings of the old hospital), contrasting the dreary experience it took to get her to safety.  
Yet Sylvain couldn’t help but wonder why. What if Ingrid was right? Is this the work of the Eagles? They hadn’t been heard from in years, hiding in corporations and shadows of society, covering their footsteps as if they slithered in the dark.  
A knock on the entrance-way interrupted his thoughts, as Bernadetta appeared leaning on the door-frame. She slightly smiled, her eyes falling on the victim, then back at her colleague.  
“I’m glad,” she began, making her way over to him, sitting in a nearby chair, “that she’s alive. First time since who knows when.”  
Sylvain nodded.  
“...” With some ruffled movement and shuffling of her hands, Bernadetta then lifted a cigar to her face, lighting it with a solemn expression. She looked over, “I have a spare too, if you want.”  
“You’re going to smoke when someone may be dying in the room?” he couldn’t help but laugh.  
“Ah, the doctors could care less,” his boss responded, tapping her finger against the Garreg Badge of Authority. Or some shit Sylvain couldn’t remember. “Want one or not?”  
Sylvain smiled, shaking his head. “Nah.”  
“Fine, fine,” she shoved it away, blowing smoke in his face as punishment.

More awkward silence.  
The two watched the girl rest, waiting for the miracle moment of her awakening, and maybe even the wishful thinking that she may have all the answers.  
“Bernie.”  
“Hm?”  
Her eyes looked up at him, dry from the lack of sleep. Though her training keeps her quiet, Sylvain knew out of anyone, these attacks made her the most anxious. He couldn’t blame her, however.  
“Do you think Ingrid is right? About the Eagles?”  
“...Shit, Sylvain. I don’t know...”  
His hands gripped his knees. “I don’t know either, but-… If that girl wakes up, tells us what she knows… and it even just sounds like it may have been them… Will we keep investigating?”  
Bernadetta removed the cigar from her lips slowly, wiping her eyes as she absently scanned the victim again.  
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”  
“...Right.”  
He couldn’t blame her. He just couldn’t.


End file.
